


Permission Not Required

by SpangleBangle



Series: Thominho Week 2016 [4]
Category: The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mutants, Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Alternate Universe - X-Men Fusion, Day 4 - Criminals, Drama & Romance, Established Relationship, Found Family, Lightning Burns, Lightning Scars, M/M, On the Run, Persecution, Rescue, Scars, Thominho Week 2016, outcasts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-23
Updated: 2016-06-23
Packaged: 2018-07-16 19:13:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7281211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpangleBangle/pseuds/SpangleBangle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Day 4 - Criminals</p><p>Minho and Thomas have been on the run all their lives, thanks to being born with mutant powers. Nothing is going to keep them apart, not if Minho can help it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Permission Not Required

**Author's Note:**

> I had a bit of trouble with the prompt so this doesn't fit the original brief completely, but I had fun writing it and I hope you have fun reading it :)

“Are they coming?” Minho panted as they leaned against the alley wall, chests heaving from exertion.

Thomas closed his eyes briefly and _felt_ their surroundings, seeking other minds and thoughts and where they were on the street. He felt five minds moving rapidly along the street, all thinking hard about the best ways to capture the duo. He grimaced.

“Five of them, thirty yards down.”

“Clunk,” Minho muttered. They were too distinctive to blend in with the crowd if they left the alley again, they would be spotted in a second. “Guess it’s my time to shine, huh?”

Thomas had to smile. “I love you.”

Minho grinned back and leaned in to kiss him, short and hurried and sweet. “I love you too.”

“Have you got enough juice to get us away?”

Minho concentrated, and after a second his whole body began to crackle with raw energy. This close, Thomas could hear the faint rattle of the zips and buttons on his coat vibrating at high speed, and he seemed to blur in Thomas’ sight. “Mmhmm,” Minho replied, his voice distorted and raised in pitch, almost squeak-like. Thomas snorted and let Minho lift him up in his arms.

“Try not to hit any cars this time,” Thomas reminded him.

Minho pinched his thigh in reply. Thomas tucked his chin down, bracing against Minho’s chest and held on tightly to his shoulders, taking a deep breath. He patted Minho’s chest to signal his readiness and between one second and the next they were off, dashing at superhuman speeds through the crowds and streets. Thomas closed his eyes tightly as the pull of the wind and sudden change in _everything_ made his balance and stomach go all to shit. Minho ran in the road to avoid as many people as possible, dodging around cars that, to him, moved in extreme slow motion. The first time Minho had carried him like this, Thomas had tried to watch what was going on. But as he wasn’t the one moving naturally at superspeed, the result was just a terrifying whirlwind of colour and wind that gave him horrible motion sickness. And puke at the speed of a jet was no joke. To this day Minho refused to let him forget it, or forgive him for the loss of that shirt.

They stopped at the outskirts of the city, real time abruptly slamming down on them as Minho ran out of energy. He nearly fell but recovered his balance just in time. They hopped and stumbled inside an apparently-abandoned warehouse, passing through the illusory barred-up entrance into the welcoming shadows. Thomas staggered against the wall, taking deep breaths and swallowing the rising bile in his throat.

“You okay?” Minho wheezed, doubled over with his arms braced on his legs.

Thomas groaned in reply and held his hands over his ears to try and restore his sense of balance.

“Are they coming?” Minho asked, his voice still oddly-pitched as his body gradually let go of whatever state it went into to convert force into motion and vice versa. Thomas had no idea really how Minho’s powers worked, other than the fact he could convert energy into momentum or speed, depending on what he needed. So he could punch a hole through a building or run faster than a rocket, if he wanted. One time he’d managed to light a fire by vibrating his body, but they still disagreed over whether that was due to the heat of his amped-up body literally setting the ground on fire, or the friction and static making a spark.

His own were much easier to handle: his brain was weird.

He concentrated again, searching back though the city they’d sped through, finding the minds of their pursuers and those directing them.

“They know we’ve gone,” he replied once he felt somewhat normal again. “They know they can’t catch us right now. But they’ll be on the lookout for the next time. Do you still have the pack?”

Minho nodded and hefted the camping rucksack filled to bulging with food and supplies. They’d be okay for a few weeks. If it weren’t for food and basic toiletries, they would never have risked going into the city like that. But Minho’s powers required a lot of fuel, and there was only so much you could scrounge.

“So we’re safe for now?”

Thomas nodded cautiously and folded himself into Minho’s open arms. “That was too close,” He mumbled, and Minho rubbed soothingly over his back.

“They can’t catch us, Thomas.”

“Not yet.”

“Have a little faith,” Minho squeezed him and kissed the top of his head.

“That was way too dangerous. We shouldn’t go out again for a while.”

Minho nodded his agreement but didn’t let go. His body was pulsing with the last waves of converted energy until he finally slowed down to Thomas’ pace.

 _It’ll be okay,_ he thought as clearly as he could. _It’ll be okay, Thomas. Stop thinking so much, and get in here instead._

Thomas sighed quietly, losing himself in Minho’s head for a minute. It was like a more intimate embrace, a familiar shape and energy and feeling. Like home. Minho’s thoughts were filled with the rush of their run, adrenaline only just starting to fade, and a frayed edge of weariness and fatigue setting in now he was out of energy. And a whole heap of affection and trust and love, with Thomas held in the centre.

 _It’ll be okay,_ Minho thought again, and Thomas heard it like his own heartbeat, so closely linked were their minds at that moment. Minho was no telepath, but loving one certainly did wonders for clarity of thought, and they’d been together a long time now.

 _I don’t know what I’d do without you,_ Thomas murmured into Minho’s thoughts.

 _Oi_ , a female voice intruded. _Quit doing your sappy hivemind thing and bring the food through._

 _Butt out, Teresa,_ Thomas shot back with a smile.

She sent back the mental image of blowing a raspberry, making them both laugh. Thomas retreated back into his own skull and smoothed his hands down Minho’s chest, feeling much more relaxed. Minho cupped his cheeks and leaned down to kiss him soundly.

He ran his hands over the spidery scars covering Minho’s arms, courtesy of a tangle with government-authorised people with control over lightning some years ago. Minho would have died if he hadn’t been able to convert the lightning strike into an energy blast of his own, but it had still left him with webs of scars all over his torso, and a patch of scarred-over burns running from the crown of his head down part of his face to the side of his chest – the path of the lightning before he managed to convert it.

One of Minho’s hands crept around to the base of Thomas’ skull, brushing under his hairline and covering the tattooed brand that sat just under his collar, the barcode-like cryptogram that made it impossible for Thomas, or any other powered person, to exist like anybody else. Their DNA was on database, taken when they were children just before the branding, when their powers had first emerged. That was when they’d been cast out, forced to live like criminals, not allowed to be themselves because the government was scared of what they could do.

Minho rubbed firmly into the skin at the back of his neck and the little bubble of bitter, helpless anger that always swelled whenever Thomas was reminded of his brand, and everything that had been taken from him and his friends, managed to burst and be replaced with simple happiness at being in Minho’s embrace.

After a few moments, Minho pulled his lips away and rested his forehead against Thomas’, fingers still pressing into his neck. They breathed together, both reliving all the years of struggle they’d survived only due to each other, and in the recent months due to finding this shelter for people like them, a place to live and sleep and help each other.

“I’d love to stay here for a while,” Minho murmured with a smile. “But I’m getting close to my limit.”

Thomas nodded in understanding and took his hand, leading him through to the main area. Teresa was socialising with about ten other young people. Alby was keeping the place warm with his fires, Newt conjuring illusions to comfort a couple of new arrivals – some young kids fresh-branded and terrified of life as outcasts –, Winston was hovering up near the ceiling to fix a hole before it rained again, and Zart was coaxing his plants to grow in the poor, rocky soil, blooming under his direction and starting to bear fruit. Chuck was crouched in the corner talking quietly with the rats and mice he’d befriended, a series of quiet squeaks and whistles emanating from him, and Gally was helping Frypan with the food; Gally was using his ability to metamorphose matter to try and transform scraps of food into whole items, loaves from crusts, that kind of thing, while Frypan used his infrared optics to cook. Brenda and Sonya were having a competition over who could transform into the most impressive creatures, while Harriet laughed and made intricate scenes and shapes from the shadows cast on the walls. Jeff was speed-healing a cut on Clint’s chameleon-like skin and Jorge, the oldest among them, was hotwiring a radio without the need of tools, directing electricity through the wires all on his own.

Thomas’ chest squeezed, as it always did when they came back to this place and saw their friends just… being themselves. Loving their powers and using them however they wished, without fear or shame. Minho rubbed a thumb over the back of Thomas’ hand as they walked; while they weren’t sharing thoughts at that moment, the years of doing so made a kind of link that meant their general thoughts and feelings were very sympathetic to one another.

Teresa turned at the sound of their footsteps and, of course, the feel of their minds approaching and smiled at them.

 _You took your time,_ she thought to Thomas.

 _We were having a moment, as you very well know,_ Thomas replied as they sat down on the piled-up sacking and bits of broken furniture they used in lieu of chairs; he handed the rucksack up to Gally. _And there was a bit of trouble when we were in the city._

She frowned at him and he made a calming motion with his hand.

_We got away, obviously. But we’ll all have to lay low for a while. They’re on a really high alert, and me and Minho don’t blend in all that well._

She chewed her lip anxiously.

“What’s the problem?” Newt asked in a vaguely annoyed voice. “If you wouldn’t mind sharing with the class.”

Teresa relayed the gist of their conversation for the non-telepaths. Minho leaned heavily on Thomas’ shoulder, head drooping.

 _Why don’t you go to bed?_ Thomas asked him privately enough that Teresa wouldn’t ‘hear’, while the others discussed how best to operate with the city on alert for them.

 _I’d rather stay here with everyone before I crash_ , Minho replied, the words fuzzy and unfocussed as he drifted closer to sleep. _Nicer here._

Thomas rested an arm around Minho’s back to support him and smiled as Minho’s head started bobbing. _The food should be ready soon._

Minho didn’t reply in any discernible way, other than a general feeling of contentment and security that felt like a gentle wave of heat on Thomas’ skin.

“What’s wrong with him?” One of the little kids asked with wide eyes, staring at Minho.

“Minho? He’s exhausted, that’s all. We had to do a lot of speed-running, and it burns up all his energy,” Thomas replied. “He’ll fall asleep soon, and be back to himself soon enough.”

“No, I meant what’s wrong with his face?”

The other kid elbowed the curious one, looking horrified. “You don’t just _say_ that!” He hissed.

“There’s nothing wrong with his face.” Thomas replied, a little more firmly. He kissed the old burns emphatically, making Minho smile into his shoulder.

 _Silly shank,_ Minho thought at him.

 _It’s a very pretty face_ , Thomas assured him, grinning.

“But…” The kid was clearly struggling with the concept of scars. “But what _happened_?”

Thomas hesitated; he didn’t want to terrify the poor child by telling the story of how he and Minho had been hunted and on the run since they were the kid’s own age, and about the government-affiliated traitors who were permitted to use their powers to hunt down their own kind. The kid had only just started sleeping through the night.

“A story for another time,” he promised. “I think dinner’s ready now.”

Frypan and Gally handed out portions of the food and they all set to eating. Just before Thomas took his first bite, Minho went completely limp and sagged heavily into his shoulder. Thomas grunted at his weight and resettled Minho to lay across his lap instead, cheek pillowed on Thomas’ thigh. Thomas rested a hand in his hair and stroked gently.

“How long d’you reckon he’ll be out?” Alby asked through a mouthful.

“Probably a day or so,” Thomas replied from experience. He briefly dipped into Minho’s mind again and was relieved to see he was sleeping deeply, without dreams. He would recover faster that way. “And he’ll need to eat a lot when he wakes up.”

Alby nodded; with Minho out of commission, Alby was their main defence against intruders or enemies – not many people wanted to fight a guy who could conjure fire with a flick of his fingers. Thomas and Teresa tended to switch shifts of guard duty, listening out for anyone approaching and keeping the presences of the others hidden under a kind of shield.

They spent the evening telling stories, as they usually did. It didn’t matter whether they were folklore, fairy tales, urban legends, half-remembered books from their childhood, or outrageous tall tales. Everyone told some kind of story, and Thomas felt at peace to be there with his friends, laughing and having fun in the warmth of Alby’s fires, while Minho slept safe and secure in his lap.

It was the next day that things changed. Thomas had stepped outside the haven to stretch his legs and get some fresh air, out from under Newt and Teresa’s protective powers, when his ability jarringly stopped. He clapped his hands over his ears, feeling deaf and vulnerable without the ability to feel the minds around him. Hands seized him from behind and shoved a wet rag over his mouth, the acrid fumes speeding up his nostrils and into his throat as he struggled with his attacker.

 _Teresa…!_ He tried to yell, but his grip on his powers felt slippery… like oil… like he was falling into the ocean… falling…

He was awoken by a needleprick in his arm and a frenetic pounding in his head. He groaned and tried to move, but found he was restrained in a straight-back chair, his arms and legs pinned under heavy duty metal chains. He couldn’t move his head either, and it felt very heavy on his neck and over his eyes… it felt like he was wearing a metal helmet? But even more alarmingly, his powers felt _gone_. He couldn’t sense anything around him, or see at all. Either he was completely alone in a wholly abandoned zone, without even birds or rats to register in his mind’s eye – or his ability was truly gone.

He swallowed thickly, trying not to panic though his lungs were heaving and his heart was thrashing in his chest. For fifteen years his powers had been such a part of him, often the only thing keeping himself and Minho ahead of their hunters and alive, an integral part of every thought and action…

“He’s awake,” A young, male voice said quietly and Thomas jerked in surprise – he’d had no clue he wasn’t alone.

“Obviously,” A female voice answered. “Good afternoon, Thomas.”

The fact they knew his name didn’t really surprise Thomas – if they had the appropriate scanner, they could find all his personal information etched into the barcode on his neck. “What have you done to me?” He asked, tongue thick and heavy from the effects of the chloroform. He tried to sound strong and threatening, but there were tears under the surface. “What did you do?”

“Nothing permanent,” The man replied. “Relax. It’s just an inhibitor so you can’t use your powers.”

“That’s supposed to make me feel relaxed?” Thomas said in a strangled voice. _The helmet_ , he thought. It must be the helmet, trapping his ability.

The woman sighed. “Let’s move along with this, Aris. Thomas, I’m sure you appreciate who we are.”

Thomas didn’t have to think very hard. “You’re traitors to your own kind.”

The man, apparently called Aris, made a threatening noise in his throat. “You should be a bit more polite, considering you’re at our mercy here.”

Thomas wanted to sneer but he was still panicking over the loss of his powers.

“And we know all about you, Thomas,” the woman continued, unperturbed. “You and your associate Park have been evading us for a long time.”

“Well sorry if we didn’t want to be experimented on or go to prison for being born the way we are,” Thomas replied, holding onto the old bitterness to try and think of a way out of this… there was maybe something still there, something the helmet couldn’t block completely. But he’d need to be very calm to use it. He took a few slow breaths.

“If you’d just turned yourselves in, none of that would have happened,” The woman explained, sounding bored. “You would have been given the chance to use your powers with full backing and amnesty, to help us find those who abuse their powers to hurt others.”

“Do you even hear yourself?” Thomas said and strained against the chains pointedly. “What do you call this, then?”

“You are a danger to others, Thomas,” Aris said. “You use your powers to facilitate crime, theft, disorder, rebellion. You protect other dangerous individuals from justice.”

“We just want to be left alone!” Thomas snapped. “We’re just trying to _exist_ , for fuck’s sake. Nobody should need permission to be themselves, especially not rubber-stamped by the government.”

He thought he could feel it now his head was clearer, yes, it was definitely there. Like the feeling when you wrap a piece of elastic around the tip of your finger, and the trapped blood makes a tiny, peripheral pulse. It was still there.  

“We don’t have time to waste on pointless discussions of ethics,” the woman said. “He’s clearly not going to co-operate willingly.”

“What are your powers then?” Thomas stalled, trying to amplify the pulse-like feeling as much as he could. “That you’re allowed to use and I’m not, just because you let them control you like bloodhounds?”

“Aris is a telepath, like you,” the woman said. He heard her moving around, footsteps on the floor. “I’m telekinetic.”

“Well good for you,” Thomas muttered bullishly. “You must feel great going to sleep at night.”

He closed his eyes behind the helmet visor to concentrate on the feeling in his head – it was almost like something was trying to get through to him. _I’m here,_ he thought at the pulse, which felt stronger and almost closer. _I’m here, I’m here, please find me…_ after a moment, he was sure. It was coming closer. At great speed.

He delved into the awareness in his mind and had an impression of a great anger and determination, and a whole lot of energy being rapidly burned. Relief swooped through him in a giddy wave.

“Why is he smiling?” the woman said sharply.

“Because my boyfriend is about to fuck you up,” Thomas replied smugly, just before the wall exploded behind him.


End file.
